


Damian Get's Drunk (It's All Jason's Fault)

by TheQueerestWriter



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian got drunk, It's all Jason's fault, One Shot, Panic, Panic Attacks, Underage Drinking, brother bonding, drunk, older brother Tim, taking care of your little brother, tim is a good brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27381832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueerestWriter/pseuds/TheQueerestWriter
Summary: Damian gets drunk, it's all Jason's fault. Tim takes care of him. I wrote this when I was drunk. No beta, we die like... tough people? Idk, I'm nonbinary, gender is stupid.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 169





	Damian Get's Drunk (It's All Jason's Fault)

Damian was drunk. He didn’t think he could get drunk. He was immune to so many poisons, and he’d been trained to handle alcohol when he was 8. He shouldn’t be drunk. But he had no other word for the fuzziness in his head, and the way the world spun. But he  _ wasn’t  _ drunk. 

It was all Jason’s fault. He’d dared him to do it. He’d told Damian that when he was 12 he could drink a whole bottle of vodka in two hours and still go out as Robin without anyone the wiser. Jason was a fucking liar. 

Damian swayed as he walked down the hall to his room. He just needed to get to his door, and then he could sleep it off and be totally fine. No one would have to know he spent an hour in the walk-in pantry drinking vodka. He hadn’t even managed half the bottle, but then again, he’d never gotten Jason to confirm the size of the bottle that he’d drank at 12. He was starting to think it must have been one of those shot size ones, because there was no way he’d been talking about a 24 ounce bottle, of which Damian managed a little more than half of. 

It probably didn’t help that Damian hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, and it was now close to midnight. It was a school night, thank god, or else he didn't know how he would explain this to father. It was lucky he didn’t have to go on patrol. 

Damian crashed into a table in the hall and both he and it fell to the floor, a vase with flowers and water spilled all over his front. He sat on the floor, trying to register what the hell had just happened, when a door opened, and Tim stepped out. 

“What the fuck are you doing Damian?!” he demanded, before he got a good look at his brother. Damian didn’t know what he saw, but whatever it was, Tim cursed. 

“Fucking, Jason. I told him to shut up,” Tim groaned. 

“I’m fine,” Damian slurred, less words making it passed his lips than he intended. 

“Like hell you are,” Tim said harshly as he held out a hand to Damian. The boy looked at it for a moment, willing it to sit still for a second, his vision swayed and twisted, before he gave up and reached for it. Tim hauled him to his feet, and Damian swayed dangerously as his head swam. Tim steady him with firm, but gentle hands on his shoulders. 

“Damian, you’re soaked,” the older boy observed. 

“I’m aware,” Damian managed, still listing to the side. 

“Why don’t you come into my room for a sec,” Tim offered gently. “We can get you some dry cloths. And I have some snacks in my room.” Damian ponder this for a moment, considering. He was very wet, and the cool draft in the hall meant he was getting very cold. And he was hungry, he hadn't eaten since lunch. Damian squinted, pretty sure he’d had that thought a few moments ago, but in the end, dismissed it.

“Come on,” Tim tugged on his arm, and Damian followed, too fuzzy to resist his predecessor. Tim pulled him through the door and closed it tight. Damian heard a lock click and thought vaguely that he should find this worrying, but didn’t. He swayed again before falling to his butt on the floor. He laughed, though he wasn’t sure what was funny about this. 

“Oh god, how much did you drink?” Tim asked, worry creeping into his voice. For some reason, Damian found this even more funny and laughed some more. But then he registered the question and frowned.

“I didn’t outperform Jason,” he admitted glumly. “I should have. I am immune to most poisons.” Tim flinched, but Damian didn’t understand why. Then, Tim ran his hands down his face. 

“God Damian. Jason was joking!” the older boy exclaimed. Damian screwed up his face, trying to understand. 

“But,” he started, pretty sure he had had a similar thought a while ago, but the memory escaped him. 

“Jason never went around getting black out drunk when he was with Bruce,” Tim explained further. “He was just fucking with you. I don’t think he actually thought you would try it!”

“But he said,” Damian tried, but Tim cut him off. 

“It doesn’t matter right now Damian,” Tim sighed. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.” Damien, to his own surprise, let Tim tug his soaking shirt off, but something in the back of his mind screamed when Tim went to undo his belt. Before he knew it, Damian had lashed out with the knife hidden in his pocket, and scrambled to the other side of the room. He tucked himself in the corner under the window, knife before him. The world still spun, and his thoughts drifted, but he knew something bad had been about to happen.

“Easy. Easy Damian,” Tim said softly as he approached, his hands up in surrender. Damian didn’t trust it, but he also did? His mind was soft and a voice whispered that this was his brother and his brother would never hurt him that way, he was just trying to help. But an older, stronger voice was telling him to never let anyone touch him there, to never let anyone remove his clothes without his permission. But Tim had his persimmon? Didn’t he? He was his brother. Damian shook his head to try and clear it. 

“Damian,” Tim said gently, as he drew near. “Give me the knife.” Damian tightened his grip on the blade, but then he saw the blood dripping down Tim’s cheeks and he froze. He’d hurt his brother, father would not forgive him for that. 

A sob escaped Damian’s throat and he dropped the knife. Tim caught it before it hit the floor, and Damian covered his face with his hands, willing the tears to stay inside him where they belonged, where they wouldn’t embarrass him. But they didn’t listen to him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tim cooed as he wrapped Damian in a hug. Usually, Damian would have shrugged him off or walked away, but Damian was a bad son. He’d broken the no hurting his brothers rule, and so he clutched Tim’s shirt in his fists and cried into his brothers chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Damian sobed. “Don’t tell father!” 

“Shh,” Tim said softly. “It’s okay. I’m fine, see. It’s just a scratch.” Damian didn’t see, because he didn’t look. He didn’t want to see the blood and gore he’d caused on his own brother. 

“Damian. Look at me,” Tim said firmly, pressing his hands to either side of Damian’s face, and Damian finally opened his eyes. He met Tim’s gaze and took a deep breath. “I’m okay little brother. You’re okay.” Tim said firmly, but gently. “Say it with me, I’m okay.” 

“I’m okay,” Damian said, and Tim nodded. Damian saw the cut on Tim’s cheek and was relieved to find it really was just a scratch. Why did he think it was so bad?

“Now,” Tim breathed. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. I’m going to get you a shirt and some pants. You take off what you have left. Okay?” Damian nodded and Tim stood, turning his back on the younger and digging through his drawers. Damian struggled out of his pants, leaning heavily on the bed and wall for support. A moment later, a shirt and pants flew at him, thrown by Tim, who was still not looking his way, giving him privacy. Damian didn’t understand why, they were brothers after all. 

Damian dropped his wet pants on the floor, and slipped Tim’s too big sweats on. He pulled on a stretched out, soft t-shirt and sighed at the warmth. It was nice not to be wet and cold. Why had he been wet and cold? Damian couldn’t remember, but he thought a flower was to blame. 

Damian jolted at the sound of loud popping, and curled back up on the floor. He didn’t know who was shooting at him, but he needed cover. 

“Easy! Easy Damian, it’s just popcorn!” Tim was at his side assuring him. Damian remembered popcorn. He hadn’t had it that often, but Dick insisted they make some whenever they watched a movie together as a family. Damian stood, up his hands still out, ready for an attack, but he swayed as his head went fuzzy. 

“Come on,” Tim urged, gently touching his side. “Get into bed.” Bed sounded good, so Damian obliged, crawling into Tim’s bed and burrowing under the covers. He’d just found a comfortable position when a delicious smelling bowl was placed in front of him, full of golden yellow, buttery popcorn. He looked to Tim for permison and his brother nodded. 

“Dig in.” Damian grabbed two fistfuls of the popped corn and started shoving it in his mouth. He caught Tim smiling at him out of the corner of his eye, but was instantly distracted when a movie started playing on the tv screen at the end of the bed. Damian wasn’t sure what movie it was, but there was a lot of Mexican music and animated skeletons. Eventually, he felt himself nodding off. 

“Go to sleep Damian,” Tim urged, and Damian nodded, slipping further down into the blankets and resting his head on his brother’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. In a matter of moments, Damian drifted off to sleep, safe in the embrace of his brother's arms. 


End file.
